the birds are the observersregal and reservedof the meaningless motion of Manamid the frenzied flourishing of fauna

He Stands at Right Angles with the world,Raising Flattened Hard pine Walls.He Creates a Floral Formula of Captive marigolds and oleanders.He Plots His land with Mathematical Precision.He is Cold, Calculating, and Consuming.

then a quiet flicker of feathers and fleshand the Clouds no longer belong

silent bedrock moves at glacial pacegargantuan and ominousgreater than godsdiffusing into the distance

clouds hang hauntingly above the Manorwandering into the warm wet airstoutly surging into the skyagainst the gentle suppression of empty ether

the birds are the observersregal and reservedof the meaningless motion of Manamid the frenzied flourishing of fauna

He Stands at Right Angles with the world,Raising Flattened Hard pine Walls.He Creates a Floral Formula of Captive marigolds and oleanders.He Plots His land with Mathematical Precision.He is Cold, Calculating, and Consuming.

then a quiet flicker of flesh and feathersand the Clouds no longer belong

Tuesday, April 22, 2008

Oppenheimer apprehensions as I realizethat I too, write in a notebook made of mighty pines

I run water over my body every morning from depleting oceansAnd drive a car that poisons Nature’s lungs, ensuring a quicker death

I realize that I have never marched on any campusOn any street, or on the steps of any capitalI have never held a peace sign or a woman’s right to choose signBut I watch political news on the televisionAnd am enraged by inaction

I realize that I read books with higher, noble meaningsBut never remember how they moved me a week laterAnd I never write any myself

I realize that I plan to go to college and find a job whereI plan to gaze at stars so I may miss all theEarthly problems around me

Oppenheimer apprehensions as I realizeThat I too, am like VishnuNow I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds

Oppenheimer apprehensions as I realizethat I too, write in a notebookMade of might pinesand that I run water over my body every morningand that I drive a car with a pathetic MPG

I have never marched on any campusOn any street, or on the steps of any capitalI have never held a peace sign or a woman’s right to choose signBut I watch political news on the televisionAnd am enraged by inaction

I read books with higher, noble meaningsBut never remember how they moved me a week laterAnd I never write any myself

I plan to go to college and find a job whereI plan to gaze at stars so I may miss all theEarthly problems around me

Oppenheimer apprehensions as I realizeThat I too, am like VishnuNow I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.

Here are some vague ideas of what my narrative piece will be. Here is a link to the painting it is about.

light sweeps across the hillsnature in full swingfirewood redash whitegolden flame edgewarm coal blackand there is perfect stillnessbare branches and brackish watercaught in symbiotic stasis and static

clouds billow up from the mountainous cavernpushing into the sky, unafraidinto cool wet airthe gentle suppression of empty etherlike air within museum walls

the birds are the observerswatchful and silentthen a quiet flicker of flesh and feathers

silent bedrock moves slower than timelarge and ominous, greater than Godsblending into distance

amid the flourish stands manat right angles with the worldand the clouds suddenly feel different

2:The Court must insist(Here the prisoner sat down)The following day, January 27, was a SundayOrganic farmers need to plowto bury and kill weeds

This makes people feel that thealcohol industry is helping their communitylight chest, streaked bellythe plan was working!

but the excruciating pain of hypothermiawore at Malarand before long a pull of gloom and hopelessnesshad returnedDifferent messages might be carried awaybut they plainly were rejecting the ethic ofacquisitive individualism

I was a professional soldier

3:as I walked down the fresh pavementof my de facto fenced neighborhoodstreaks began to fill the sky, the airand the cracks between my steps

I saw an act of naturebetween a young bird and its fatelying sideways, broken and filthy and perfectstreaks running across its body

I ran home through puddles and pavementand closed my eyes in the showerI felt tiny streaks of waterrun from my back down over my stomach

I drove to your house where weonce shared something beautifully bareand you ran your hands across my bodyand left streaks across my stomach

4:I earnestly desire something spiritualI want God to talk to me while I sleepI want to find my inspiration like the old Romantics didto be moved by something larger than my bones

I need my own vision questmy own Anne Frankmy own Mt. Eeriemy own Vietnammy own Plaguemy own fear of death

5:Oppenheimer apprehensions as I realizethat I too, write in a notebook